Innocent Blood

Twenty-Nine

Charles Lasser shrugged and began to shuffle toward the rear of the van. Frank followed him, keeping his thumb on the remote control box. When he reached the tailgate, Charles Lasser said, ‘You’re sure you won’t reconsider?’

Frank said nothing. He was trembling all over and he felt as if his head were being repeatedly struck with a pein hammer. Charles Lasser climbed down to the ground and Frank said, ‘Back away. That’s it. Further.’ He jumped down to the ground himself and looked around. The van was parked in a lock-up garage at the rear of a derelict warehouse. Outside, there was a wide concrete apron, glaring in the midday sun, where two rusty semis were parked. There was no sign of the bald man or the man with the shock of black hair.

‘Where is this?’ Frank demanded.

‘Just off Hughes Airport. Fifteen minutes away from Culver Studios. David O. Selznick burned down Atlanta at Culver Studios. Well, what he actually burned down was derelict sets from King Kong, Last of the Mohicans and Little Lord Fauntleroy. Me, I accept no substitutes. When I blow up Hollywood, I blow up Hollywood.’

They walked out across the concrete. After they had gone about seventy-five yards, Frank said, ‘Stop. That’s it. Stay there.’ Charles Lasser stopped, and Frank backed well away from him.

‘So, you’re going to blow me up now, are you?’ Charles Lasser asked him.

‘Call nine-one-one,’ said Frank. ‘Tell them who you are, and where we are, and tell them you want to make a confession.’

‘And what if I won’t?’

‘I think there’s enough evidence here to prove that you were responsible for Dar Tariki Tariqat, don’t you? The van, the explosives . . .’

‘There’s no evidence, Mr Bell. The police and the FBI can search till Doomsday, they won’t find a single document or a single fingerprint or a single computer file that links Charles Lasser with Dar Tariki Tariqat.’

At that moment, however, Frank saw somebody approaching them. At first it was difficult to make out who it was, because of the rippling heat haze rising off the concrete, but as the figure came nearer he saw that it was a young woman in a white cotton dress. Charles Lasser realized that Frank was staring over his shoulder, so he turned around and saw the young woman for himself.

Almost half a minute went past. An aircraft screamed overhead, landing at LAX, and for a few seconds they were deafened. But as the screaming subsided, Frank heard Charles Lasser said, ‘No.’

The young woman came closer until she was standing only a few feet away from them. It was Astrid, her hair pinned back with white daisy barrettes. She was wearing mirror sunglasses so that it was impossible to see her eyes.

Charles Lasser stared at her and then he turned to Frank. He seemed incapable of speech.

‘Here you are, then,’ Frank challenged him. ‘This is the Astrid who doesn’t exist. This is the Astrid you’ve been beating up on. Now do you know who she is?’

‘Her name’s not Astrid,’ said Charles Lasser. He sounded almost panicky.

‘Whatever her name is, this is the woman.’

‘It’s not possible!’ Charles Lasser screamed.

‘Of course it’s possible. Here she is.’

‘It’s not possible because she’s dead!’

‘Dead? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘She’s dead! She’s dead! She’s dead!’

Frank looked at Astrid in bewilderment. ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Astrid, and took off her sunglasses. He saw now that she had no bruises on her face and that her nose wasn’t swollen at all. In fact she looked exactly as she had on the morning that The Cedars had been bombed. And then it occurred to him – how did she know where I was? And how did she get here? There was no car in sight, and he hadn’t seen a taxi.

Astrid started to walk toward Charles Lasser but he raised both hands as if he were trying to defend himself. ‘Get away from me! Don’t touch me! Get away!’

‘Astrid!’ called Frank. ‘He’s got explosives on him! Keep well back!’

Astrid stopped, and smiled at him. ‘Do you think I care about that? He’s right, Frank. Nothing can frighten me now.’

Charles Lasser dropped to his knees on the concrete. ‘I didn’t know you were going to join them, did I? How was I to know?’

‘Didn’t it occur to you that I was a prime candidate?’

‘I didn’t know where you were! I didn’t know how to reach you!’

‘You wouldn’t have tried to, even if you had known. Look at you! Just look at you! You miserable, sweaty, cowardly bully!’

Charles Lasser squeezed his eyes tight shut and clenched his fists. His face was crimson and glistening with perspiration. Frank could almost feel the pressure rising inside of him, like a steam boiler that was just about blow. Suddenly he popped open his eyes and roared, ‘You’re not here! You’re dead and you deserve to be dead!’ He climbed to his feet and staggered stiff-legged toward Astrid, his arms extended, as if he were walking through a shopping mall in a zombie movie.

‘Astrid!’ Frank yelled at her. ‘Get away from him!’

But Astrid stayed where she was, still smiling, her eyes serenely half closed. Her white dress reflected the sunshine in a blurry dazzle, so that Frank felt as if he were looking at her through layers of muslin curtains.

Charles Lasser seized her by the throat and started to shake her head backward and forward. ‘Lasser!’ Frank shouted. ‘Lasser, let her go!’

Charles Lasser was letting out that furious pig-like screech and pressing his thumbs so deeply into Astrid’s throat that they almost disappeared. Astrid’s face was strangely expressionless and her arms and legs were floppy, as if she were a life-size doll rather than a woman.

‘Lasser!’ Frank bellowed. But just then the remote control box flew out of his hand. He made a grab for it, missed, and made another grab for it.

There was a moment when the world seemed to disappear and there was nothing.

Somebody punched Frank square in the chest, and he found that he was flying backward. He tumbled helplessly over and over, and then he hit the concrete, jarring his shoulder, hitting his head, twisting his back. He lay there, winded, for five or ten seconds, and then he realized that he was wet. His face was wet, his hair was wet, his shirt was soaked through.

He sat up. He lifted both hands and saw that he was smothered in blood. He thought for one moment that he had been horribly injured, but then he looked around and realized that the blood had been sprayed in all directions, and that it had come from the spot where Charles Lasser had been standing.

A cloud of smoke hovered in the air like a huge gray vulture with outstretched wings. Beneath it, strewn all over the concrete, were pieces of Charles Lasser. His legs had been blown off at the hip and were lying at an angle, as if they were running. Not far away, his pelvis lay like a bloodstained washbasin. His intestines had unraveled into yards of multicolored gack. At first Frank couldn’t see his head, but eventually he spotted it close to the garage doors, looking in the opposite direction, as if he was deliberately being stand-offish. There was no sign of Astrid anywhere. Not her body, not her white dress, nothing.

Frank climbed unsteadily to his feet. His ears were ringing but he could still hear the next 747 that went over, which blotted out everything. He didn’t know what to do. It occurred to him that he ought to call the police, but he wouldn’t be surprised if somebody hadn’t heard the explosion and dialed 911 already.

He felt extraordinarily light-headed, almost triumphant. He kept turning around and around, wanting to tell somebody what he had done, but there was nobody there.